


Fromage effrayant

by twofrontteethstillcrooked



Series: Les Mis snippetfic [11]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheese, Halloween, M/M, Multi, fluff fluff, snippetfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:20:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8380141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofrontteethstillcrooked/pseuds/twofrontteethstillcrooked
Summary: Grantaire gave Enjolras a sad little wave. It made Joly want to weep.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goshemily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshemily/gifts).



> For [goshemily](http://archiveofourown.org/users/goshemily) on the occasion of [her brilliant Enjolras tags](http://soemily.tumblr.com/post/152124615579/celebsofcolor-oscar-isaac-poses-at-the-opening) and also 'cause she's grand. <3

**October 27th  
7:52 p.m.**

"So you and Enjolras haven't…" Joly trailed off. While he waited for Grantaire to fill in the blank, his spatula dripped cake batter onto the floor. "Argh."

Grantaire grabbed a paper towel and bent over to wipe up the blob. "We haven't _argh_ , no. That sounds painful. Or like some kind of pirate kink." He stood up and neatly threw the towel into the sink, where a menagerie of cooking-related detritus was piling up. "We're taking a slow and leisurely approach to, um, interpersonal relations."

Joly kept stirring the batter in Bossuet's gigantic old Pyrex dish until all the pimply lumps were finally smooth. "And that's okay with you?"

Grantaire placed both hands on the kitchen counter and shrugged. "I'd pretty much be okay with anything he decided. Up to and including his figuring out I'm not anything he wants."

He tossed this off so casually it almost didn't register with Joly; in the living room Courfeyrac and Feuilly were giving some sort of cheer about something, and Prouvaire let out a whoop of glee. 

"The council agreed to vacate the vote and hold hearings!" Musichetta called in for, Joly guessed, his and Grantaire's benefit. 

Well, that was great. Affordable housing was back on the agenda. They might have a fairer shake this time, with more positive momentum from the public, enough to offset the worst of the opposing factions, and more cooperation across non-profit and government agencies. Wonderful, hopeful news.

Grantaire had a small, faraway smile on his face as he watched his hands on the counter. Joly wondered, not for the first time, if Enjolras did in fact know what he was getting into with him. 

"Maybe you should tell him how you feel," Joly suggested, trying to sound sympathetic but non-pitying.

"Seems reasonable."

"You wouldn't do that with a gun to your head, right?"

"Correct."

"You'd step in front of an oncoming bullet for him, though, wouldn't you?" It wasn't Joly's shrewdest work; perhaps it would drive home a point.

"Yes," Grantaire said on a large exhalation. He rolled his eyes at Joly's narrowed glance, but didn't take back the admission.

Bossuet stuck his head in. "Are we waiting until you finish the cupcakes before we eat?"

"No, no, just waiting on anyone else who was supposed to come. I think Enjolras is bringing an appetizer?"

"Food he cooked? Like, food?" Grantaire sounded intrigued, despite himself.

"Maybe," though it was difficult to imagine Enjolras cooking. Joly gave him the spatula. "Snack?"

"May I lick the bowl?" Bossuet asked, slipping up behind Joly and setting his chin on Joly's shoulder.

"Help me fill up the cupcake…paper…things."

"Wrappers?"

"Yes. And then you can lick the bowl."

Bossuet grinned and jumped over to the cabinet with the baking pans. After a long minute of noisy rearranging he rescued the muffin pan from somewhere at the back. He left a stack of cookie sheets on the floor -- Joly picked them up and deposited them immediately into the sink of despair, since he knew the five second rule did not truly exist -- and expertly filled the cups with papers that had a candy corn print all over them.

He and Joly were spooning batter into the cups one at a time and Grantaire was cracking ice out of trays into a plastic bucket shaped like a witch's hat when Enjolras wandered in carrying a mysterious tea towel-wrapped plate. Grantaire promptly turned out a whole tray of ice onto the floor and cubes scattered into corners like cockroaches. 

I have got to hose this kitchen down with bleach tomorrow, Joly thought. He watched Enjolras light up, like an actual human lightbulb, 1000 incandescent watts, or 30 for maximum LED efficiency, at the sight of Grantaire on the other side of the sink.

Grantaire gave Enjolras a sad little wave. It made Joly want to weep.

He began spooning batter at record speed, dripping some onto Bossuet, who seemed to take no offense. They exchanged a look as Enjolras moved nearer to Grantaire -- the kitchen is not that big, Joly thought, why is it taking so long for them to be standing beside each other? -- and collectively decided to forgo scraping the bowl for that one last runt cupcake. Bossuet would want more risky raw batter anyway; he lived a dangerous, sexy life of fighting injustice in the mean streets and potential food poisoning and Joly loved him for it.

"Whatcha got there?" Grantaire asked Enjolras as Joly popped the tray in the oven. 

"Bahorel told me I had to bring a seasonal dish," Enjolras said. 

Joly could hear the cheerfulness in his voice and slammed the oven shut in a slight amount of panic.

"Is Bahorel even here?" Grantaire sounded…fine. He sounded fine.

"He dropped off the crusty bread and said he'd be back later," Bossuet offered. He immediately went back to scraping oozy sugary bacteria directly into his mouth.

"Appetizer's here," Joly yelled out, because it just seemed like the more people were in the room, the more witnesses, the less likely anything would go astronomically wrong.

Grantaire had taken the plate from Enjolras and they were moving in tandem over to the cleared-off cart Musichetta used for chopping veg and hoarding ziplocs of all sizes. Joly grabbed the ice witch and the bag of 2 liters and set up a drink stand at the liquor cabinet by the door. 

Prouvaire, after washing his hands, started putting ice in glasses. "They seem to be getting along," he whispered, nodding toward the cart.

Joly gave him a shuddery sign and Prouvaire returned a knowing, bug-eyed expression. Enjolras and Grantaire were talking quietly, too quietly, their expressions serious. Musichetta came over to pour a drink. She picked a dried bit of batter out of Joly's hair and swished her long ponytail in his face, her mouth a seductive but comical pout and her eyes alight. 

"That seems intense over there," she said under her breath, tipping her head in the direction of the cart. "Anyone ever figure out if they quarreled earlier?"

"I don't think so," Prouvaire said. 

Joly agreed. "I think Grantaire was..."

"Being Grantaire," Prouvaire finished.

"Well, but Enjolras is Enjolras," Musichetta said. Joly and Prouvaire both cocked their heads, seeking further insight. "Enjolras is not a dummy about much of anything and not about Grantaire either, not after all these years." 

"Interesting theory," Prouvaire said.

"Maybe it balances out, is all." 

Joly wasn't so sure. Enjolras still looked naively expectant, and Grantaire still looked forlorn, unreachable, and Joly felt a hole open up in his chest until he heard Grantaire say, with honest delight in his voice, "You made something called 'Bleeding Heart Brie'?"

All right: it was possible Joly had slightly misread the nature of their Serious Conversation.

Enjolras's mouth quirked. "It's not… A comment or anything. It just sounded like it would be good to eat." He looked at Grantaire like Grantaire held answers to important questions. Important questions about brie.

Grantaire smiled at Enjolras, a true warm smile. 

Joly felt like dancing. He poured at least two shots of bourbon into his coke and kissed Prouvaire on the side of his head.

"Oh my god," Bossuet said. 

"HOLY SHIT," Combeferre said, and Feuilly burst out laughing.

"This is amazing," Grantaire said. In one hand he held Bossuet's favorite boning knife, its blade dripping with dark red goop and a smear of melted cheese. "This is the most disgusting, perfectly horrid masterpiece of Halloween pastry I have ever witnessed."

"The spreading knives," Musichetta said, that thrill in her voice that meant she was in her element. "We must have more spreading knives."

"Yikes," Courfeyrac said. "Where Bahorel's bread?"

"Here," Bossuet said, bringing over the basket of slices. 

Enjolras rustled through the drawer Musichetta had opened and brought out a stack of mini-plates. "Will these work?"

"Yes, my dear," she said.

Everyone rushed in with their silly little knives to further hack into the phyllo-wrapped wheel of baked brie, which was also, it seemed, smothered on the inside of the dough in cherry preserves. It was, truly, the vilest dish to have ever made its debut in the house. It was also delicious. It was almost as good to eat as the sight of Enjolras and Grantaire sitting down together, still talking as they arranged themselves in the corner of the breakfast table nook.

"They'll be okay," Bossuet said, low at Joly's ear, after he bumped Joly's hip with his glass of bat juice, which he then surreptitiously poured into the sink. ("Do not drink the bat juice," Feuilly had whispered earlier. "It's just moonshine cut with cinnamon schnapps.") "We have to let Grantaire do this on his own."

"I know. It's just."

"I know," Bossuet said kindly. "But look."

Across the room, Enjolras laid his hand palm up on the tabletop. Grantaire, without hesitating, slipped his own hand into Enjolras's, held on.

Joly sighed with relief enough for the moment, and took another bite of brie.

 

_addendum_

**11:21 p.m.**

When Joly woke up and saw the time it occurred to him the early relative hour was the second most depressing proof of adulthood he'd experienced lately, losing first place only to the way napping flat on his back on the living room floor was no longer something he could do without suffering lower back spasms within thirty minutes.

The house had survived the gathering decently since their friends were at least as responsible as he was these days. He shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing his back, and found his partners hunched over in the odd, narrow alcove between the far counter and the porch door. Musichetta's old futon lived there with a tiny side table and two-shelf bookcase, on which she kept art supplies and an awful collection of bones: a desiccated frog skeleton, the skull of a gray squirrel, a raccoon ribcage. Someone had lit a candle and it glowed softly on the windowpane, leaving a halo of fog on the glass.

"I found Enjolras's keys and locked his car. Did Grantaire arrive with someone?" Musichetta whispered.

"Feuilly, but I think they'd decided he'd get a ride home with Enjolras," Bossuet whispered back.

"Hey, by the way, you're doing grate."

"Never felt cheddar."

"Glad you're not blue." Musichetta's singsong whisper made Bossuet stifle a snort.

Moving toward them, Joly started to ask, "What are you two," and stopped. 

Bossuet was untying Grantaire's sneaker laces and slipping the shoes off his feet, which dangled off one end of the futon. Musichetta was spreading a blanket over Enjolras, who appeared to be for the most part draped on top of Grantaire. 

Enjolras and Grantaire were both fast asleep, fully dressed excepting their Bossuet-removed footware, Grantaire's face pressed to Enjolras's hair. Bossuet and Musichetta stood back and admired their handiwork. They smiled proudly one after the other at Joly and then down at their resting guests.

"It's a shame Enjolras didn't get to appreciate our puns," Bossuet commented.

"We must bear the gouda with the bad," Musichetta replied.

Joly groaned silently into his hands, but felt quite content until he remembered one thing: "They didn't drink that bat juice, did they?" 

Musichetta wrapped an arm around Joly. "If they don't wake up in the morning, we'll call for an ambulance," she whispered.

"A perfectly Krafty idea," Bossuet swooned, before kissing her and Joly in turn.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Joly's lightbulb observation is my [Bulwer-Lytton](http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/) homage; 'tis the season.
> 
> \- You too can make [Bleeding Heart Brie](http://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/bleeding-heart-brie). Yum.
> 
> \- sorry not sorry about the cheesy puns :)
> 
> \- Happy Halloween!


End file.
